


The Fabled Birthday Blow Job

by SheriffsRevolver



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Blow Jobs, Come Sharing, Coming Out, First Kiss, First Time, Friendship, Gay Daryl Dixon, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 01:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16588568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheriffsRevolver/pseuds/SheriffsRevolver
Summary: Daryl has never had a blow job before. That's a problem that ought to be remedied!





	The Fabled Birthday Blow Job

“Okay, hold on. Hold on.” Rick smacks his bottle down on the porch railing and levels a look at Daryl to communicate the depth of his disbelief. “You’ve _never_ had a blow job before?”

Daryl peeks up at him from behind his mess of overgrown hair.

“Shut up.”

His cheeks have flushed pink. He takes a determinedly casual swig from his bottle and glances around, checking for anyone who might overhear, but Rick doesn’t understand why he bothers, because no one will. It’s late, and the people of Alexandria went to bed hours ago. Only Rick, Daryl, and a half case of Pabst remain at the empty house that held this evening’s festivities. They’ve stood on the front porch for _hours_ past suggested curfew, drinking and talking about stupid shit like guys do. Neither of them seem in a hurry to turn in. Rick appreciates moments like these because they come with a sweet twinge of nostalgia. Hanging out like this with his best friend provides a welcome reprieve from the turbulence of apocalyptic life.

A smile dances on his lips. He presses the lip of the bottle against his mouth to hide it. “Seriously? Never? How old are you?” he asks against the glass. Laughter threatens his defenses, so he tips the bottle back to drown it out. He shouldn’t laugh. It’s not funny. Really, it’s not.

Daryl glares at him. “Forty-one now. Thanks.”

A fresh bout of laughter hits him unexpectedly, and a snort slips free. He chokes on his drink and has to smack his hand down on the railing to steady himself through the hacking. Daryl narrows his eyes at him, looking thoroughly displeased with Rick’s lack of tact. Rick swallows hard and shakes his head.

“How on earth did you manage that?” Rick chokes out.

“I’ll tell ya, it was effortless. Didn’t have to do a damn thing.”

“How can you possibly have gone all these years…? Not even once? _How_?”

“I don’t know why you’re actin’ so surprised. It weren’t for lack of tryin’, I promise ya that.”

Rick blinks at him and leans up against the railing. He studies Daryl’s face in the soft white glow of the nighttime sky and tries to puzzle it together. It doesn’t make sense. Rick can think of half a dozen names of ladies who would drop to their knees without hesitation at Daryl’s request.

“Well, clearly you’re not tryin’ too hard,” Rick concludes.

Daryl huffs a laugh through his nose. He smirks mirthlessly at Rick. “Dedicated one night a year to that alone. Never did pan out for me.”

Rick raises his eyebrows. _Elaborate_ , the look says.

Daryl sighs. He tips his bottle back and drains it, then pops the cap on a fresh one. “The fabled birthday blowjob,” he says. The defeat in his voice is nearly tangible. Rick can’t say he’s ever heard of such a thing as ‘The Fabled Birthday Blowjob’, but Daryl says the name like it’s an old childhood friend that he’s grown to resent.

“My brother first told me about it on my fourteenth birthday. I had just started high school the week before.” Daryl says. His eyes have glossed over, like he’s somewhere far away, lost in a sea of memory, too deep and distant for Rick to reach. “‘You’re a man now,’ he said, ‘And as a man, you gotta start each new year off on the right foot.’”

“This right foot being…?”

“Ya gotta get yer dick sucked.”

An ugly snort leaps out of Rick. “Or what? Bad luck for seven years?”

“Naw, just for the year. Until the next birthday. Then you getta try again.”

Laughter overtakes Rick. It so thoroughly overwhelms him that he has to rest his head in his arms against the porch railing to keep his trembling body upright. When he gasps through the tail end of it and whips his head back up, he’s met with Daryl’s angry eyes glaring at him.

“It ain’t funny.”

A fresh bout of laughter bubbles out of Rick and he has to press his palms against his closed eyes to hold the tears at bay. “What kind of superstition is that?” His voice comes out high and weak.

“A true one! When’s the last time you got a birthday blowjob?”

Rick takes a sip of beer. It goes down, despite the lingering giggles. “I dunno. Two years ago?”

“Yeah, and I bet you’ve had a pretty shit time these last two years.”

An ache has started up in Rick’s cheeks from all the grinning. “You know, I gotta feeling that my rotten luck has less to do with the lack of birthday blowjobs, and far more to do with the entire world being plunged into the apocalypse.”

Daryl rolls his eyes and deflates. He presses his lips against the rim of his beer, like he’d like a sip, but can’t be bothered to tilt the bottle back. “Well the no-blowjobs certainly didn’t _help_.”

That’s true, Rick supposes. A well-timed blowjob makes even the shittiest situation manageable. It’s hard to be mad at the world, no matter how cruel it is, when you’ve got someone willing to bring you off with their lips and tongue. Can’t be mad when you’re balls-deep in an eager mouth. That’s just the nature of the blowjob: it slips those rose-colored glasses on the recipient, and lets them see the world in a more forgiving light. At least for a little while. It’s one of life’s greatest joys, if Rick’s being honest. He can’t fucking believe Daryl has never experienced it before.

They’ve gone quiet. Nothing but steady breathing, sporadic gulps of beer, and a soft chorus of singing crickets. Rick looks at Daryl again. He’s got this otherworldly glow about him in the pale light of the moon. He looks strong, but battered. Fierce, and weather-worn. A whole lifetime, devoid of blowjobs. Never once feeling the bliss of another person’s tongue sliding over the shaft. The opened-mouthed, suctioned kiss around the tip. The toe-curling pleasure of another person’s bobbing head working him over.

Criminal.

Daryl deserves to feel that for himself. He’s handsome, in a gruff and grisly sort of way—plenty of women like that ‘outdoorsman’ look. But more importantly—Daryl is a good man. Anyone who spends five minutes with him can see it. That ‘heart of gold’ radiates so goddamn bright that sometimes Rick feels inadequate standing next to him. Rick considers himself to be a good man too, but he’s not good like Daryl. Rick _chooses_ to be good—it takes effort. For Daryl, goodness just comes natural. It’s the default setting on his state of being. What woman wouldn’t want to suck the dick of a man like that?

“So you’ve never had one?” Rick says, voice still tinged with disbelief, but now it’s accompanied by a thick layer of sympathy.

“No.”

“And you _tried_? To…y’know. Get one?”

Daryl’s narrowed eyes flick over to Rick. His mouth is pressed into a firm line. He looks like he’s working up to retort with something snarky, but Rick’s wide eyes and concerned brow must dissipate his irritation, because his shoulders slump, and he sighs. The beer is finished off with one more gulp. He smacks it down. Stares at it for a minute. Then he swats it off the railing and into the bush underneath. It lands with a rustle and a thump.

“I tried every year. On my own, at first. I just tried to date ‘round. I figured if I had someone I was seeing by the time September rolled on through, I’d have it in the bag. But I never found nobody to date. Burned through high school like that. Once I turned twenty-one, I started followin’ Merle’s lead—he never had any sort of problem getting his birthday blowjob—so that ended up being a lotta bar crawls. I can’t tell ya how many times Merle scooped up someone on _my_ birthday, meanwhile I’m alone, left to wrap my head around another year of shit.”

“Okay, okay, hold on…” Rick shakes his head. “This isn’t makin’ any sort of sense. You’re trying to tell me that Merle pulled, and you didn’t? On multiple occasions? There ain’t no way.”

Daryl laughs bitterly and rubs an open palm over his face. He suddenly looks ten years older. “Yeah, well. Me and him, we had different sorts of opportunities now, didn’t we?”

Rick is confused. If anything, Daryl should have had more opportunity, not less. He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent.

Daryl looks up at the night sky. A short, regretful sigh slips out of him, but he quickly swallows it. He shakes his head.

“It’s tricky business, gettin’ your dick sucked in Georgia as a gay man. Not a lotta options. And ya gotta tread light.”

Rick’s heart stutters to a halt in his chest.

Daryl? Gay? Since when? Why the hell didn’t he say anything before now? They’re best friends, and have been for years! Why would he feel the need to keep this a secret from Rick? It’s so ridiculous, and out of the blue that he can’t quite believe it.

“What did you say?” Rick asks, voice a little harder than he meant it to be.

“I said it ain’t easy. I dunno if you know where all the gays are hiding, but I think I met five in all my life, and two of ‘em are Aaron and Eric.” His hand flails weakly in the direction of their house. “That few of us wanderin’ ‘bout don’t really lead to a lotta opportunity. ‘Specially for a guy like me.”

And it’s at that point Rick realizes he’s completely incapable of speech. His mouth open and closes dumbly, and he stares, and stares, and stares, wide-eyed, because he _didn’t know_ but he _should_ _have_. He should have realized, because of course Daryl is gay. Of course. Good to know that all those years on the force did absolutely nothing to build his detective skills.

Daryl continues on. “So that’s how things went, year after year. On the off chance that I did pull, it wasn’t ever on my birthday, and we never got ‘round to any dick sucking. I guess we’d just skip that step…” Daryl’s cheeks are visibly red, even in the low light. He circles a knot in the wood railing with his pointer finger and chews on his lip. His shoulders jump, a quick, awkward shrug. “And each year just got worse than the last. My life’s been one long, downward trend. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse for me…” He laughs ruefully. “Well, just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse, the whole fuckin’ world ended.”

And there’s not a goddamn thing Rick can say to that. His mouth still isn’t working anyhow. Daryl’s gay. And no guy has ever taken it upon themselves to suck him off. What sort of world were they living in, where such a travesty could stand uncorrected for _decades_?

The same sort where the dead walked ‘round. A shitty ass world indeed.

Newfound purpose surges inside of Rick: he knows what he must do. He has to fix this for Daryl—he has to play the ultimate wingman, and ensure that Daryl finally receives the fabled birthday blowjob. Sure, there’s not a ton of gay men in Georgia, but there are some, right? Hell, Daryl is right here, sitting right under everyone’s noses, and Rick’s positive that most of their family has no idea. Maybe there are others hiding in plain sight. Aaron and Eric, they’re off the table, but maybe they have some sort of insider information. A gaydar. They could point Rick in the right direction, and goddamn it, Rick would do whatever was in his power to find someone for his best friend. Daryl deserves this!

“When’s your birthday?” Rick says decisively. “September, you said. Hell, aren’t we in September already? How many days we got?”

Daryl gives him a weird look. “I don’t keep track of that shit no more. My birthday might be today for all I know. I’d have to check Carol’s calendar. What’s it matter anyway? I told ya. It ain’t ever gonna happen.”

Disappointment settles heavily in Rick’s gut. Another year to fix this is too long. Daryl deserves it now. Rick wishes he could give it to him tonight, but he needs time to find someone, and seduction takes time, too. Even with Rick’s help, they couldn’t expect Daryl to pull before at least a few hours of flirting and getting to know one another. God! Why does everything have to be so complicated? If he could just take matters into his own hands…!

Oh.

Rick blinks over at Daryl. His hair is wind-tousled and wild. His skin looks creamy smooth in the moonlight, contrasted by the dark wisps of facial hair peppered over his mouth and jaw. There’s a silvery glint in his eye as he looks off into the distance, and Rick can tell that his memory has pulled him away again. He’s lost in thought, yet his energy radiates off of him under the soft nighttime sky. He practically glows with that golden goodness Rick is so fond of.

He looks somber, and Rick wants to take away that painful ache in Daryl’s chest and replace it with pleasure. He wants to negate those years of failure and rejection and disappointment. He’d do anything to make Daryl’s next year better than his last.

Rick’s a man. A man with a perfectly functioning mouth. And a decent idea of the steps it takes to administer a successful blow job. Could he…? Could he be the one to fix this for Daryl? No third party necessary? Saliva floods his mouth at the thought.

_Oh._

Rick wants to. He wants to be the one. He wants to give this to Daryl. _His_ mouth, _his_ lips, _his_ tongue. Rick will take the time to do it right. He’ll make it good for him. Honestly, like Rick would trust Daryl’s first blowjob to someone else? Somebody they barely know? No—that’s absurd. There’s only one man for this job: Rick Grimes.

He clears his throat, and leans up against the railing beside Daryl. When Daryl doesn’t respond, still lost in thought, Rick clears his throat again, and nudges Daryl’s shoulder with his own. Daryl sways and blinks up at Rick, the far-away fog clearing from his eyes. He grunts, a sound that means, ‘yes?’

“Y’know…” Rick says. His stomach is fluttering like crazy. He’s aware that some part of him is terrified of being rejected, but he does his best to stamp it out. This is Daryl. The worst he can say is no, and if he does, it will be gentle. That’s just the kind of man Daryl is.

Daryl’s brow is furrowed now, and he’s wearing a small frown. Confusion, Rick identifies. He really has no idea where this is going. Which is a little ridiculous, Rick thinks, because now that the idea has presented itself to him, it makes perfect sense. He doesn’t understand how it hasn’t come up sooner.

“What?” Daryl asks.

“I was just gonna say that—well—” Rick laughs nervously. “Well, I’ve known you ‘bout three years now, and I don’t think I’ve ever gotten you a birthday present.”

Daryl’s confusion deepens, but a tinge of humor creeps into his eyes, too. “So?” he asks. “Nobody does birthdays anymore, man. And I’ve never been so keen on my own, as ya might surmise.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sayin’ that maybe that’s cause I haven’t been givin’ you a birthday present.”

Daryl blinks at him.

Rick puts a hand on his shoulder, spins him around, and drops to his knees in front of Daryl.

“What the hell, Rick?!” Daryl says. Panic has overtaken his features. The presses hard against the railing at his back, trying to put the most possible distance between them.

“Shhh,” Rick says. He runs reassuring hands over Daryl’s hips. His voice drops to a whisper. “We don’t want anyone comin’ out. Keep your voice down.”

“What are you doing?” Daryl hisses. He’s on his tiptoes now, clawing at the railing with both hands to try and pull himself further back. It’s like he’s worried he’ll offend Rick with his junk’s proximity to Rick’s face. As if Rick isn’t the one that put them in this position.

“What’s it look like?” Rick says. “I’m gonna give you your birthday present.”

“You don’t gotta—” Daryl says, but it’s cut off by a garbled groan when Rick yanks his hips forward and buries his face against the rough, night-cooled denim.

All the resistance melts out of Daryl’s body, and he sinks back against the railing. “Ohhh…shit,” he groans. It sounds pained. Rick knows why: he can feel Daryl hardening fast against his nuzzling cheek. Rick squeezes Daryl’s hips and hums happily. Good. Daryl is responding to him. This is going spectacularly so far.

“Rick…” Daryl tries, but his voice sounds weak. When Rick flicks his gaze upward, he sees Daryl panting, chest heaving with every breath. His eyes are dark and lidded. The moment those lust-filled eyes make contact with Rick’s, a whimper punches out of Daryl, he squeezes his lids shut, and bites down hard on his lip. Rick grins against the material and burrows against the bulge in Daryl’s pants. When he breathes in deep, he can smell the faintest hint of arousal. The scent is going to be so much stronger once he pulls Daryl out. Anticipation coils tightly in his abdomen.

“God, I’m gonna make this so good for you, Daryl,” Rick says, nose pressed into his thigh.

Daryl’s throat contracts around another whimper, and his knees buckle. Rick presses his hips back against the railing to keep him upright. He digs his fingertips into his lean, muscular body, and Daryl gasps at the pressure. Rick trails his hand over to cup Daryl's hardness. He rubs both sides of it at once: his face nuzzling into it on the left, his hand stroking over it on the right.

“You deserve this. You deserve to know how good this feels,” Rick mumbles against Daryl’s heat. It’s so goddamn hard. The need to see it with his own eyes, hot, stiff, and glistening in the low light, hits Rick with such intensity that he’s dizzy—and that’s the moment when his own raging erection bursts into his conscious awareness. This is turning him on, touching Daryl this way. He didn’t anticipate that part—though, now he thinks that maybe he should have. Rick’s never felt so wanted before. Daryl’s shaking with need. Need that Rick created and cultivated to unbearable proportions in a matter of minutes.

“Don’t—want—your—pity,” Daryl says. Each word squeezes it’s way out between desperate gasps. The delivery of the words doesn’t exactly back-up their message—it sounds like Daryl wants Rick’s pity plenty. But that’s not what this is, and Rick needs to correct the misunderstanding. He springs to his feet.

Daryl sucks in a shaky breath when he processes the sudden lack of stimulation. He blinks unsteadily, looking lost and a little terrified. Rick smirks at him and leans in, bracketing Daryl by putting a hand on the railing on either side of him. Daryl’s breath stops entirely. It doesn’t resume until Rick’s lips press up beside his ear.

“It’s not pity. It’s desire,” Rick whispers lowly, his voice thick and sex-laden. He takes Daryl by the wrist and guides him to his hardness. He shudders at the first firm touch of Daryl’s palm against him. Rick can’t help himself—he presses in closer, desperately, and puts his panting mouth fully against Daryl’s ear. He sucks in a hard breath, and all the air rushes from Daryl’s lungs in response.

“See?” Rick sighs. It’s a struggle to get his mouth to form words when it’s much more interested in other tasks—licking, biting, sucking. He needs the full length of Daryl filling his mouth up, stretching it open wide. His tongue craves the weight, the texture, the flavor… Even if he’s never had it before, he knows it’ll satiate the need burning through his insides. “I want it.” He presses Daryl’s hand harder against him and moans low in his throat. “I’m so hard thinking about it, Daryl. I want to suck you off. I want to give this to you. Let me? Say yes.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Daryl says, and his head drops onto Rick’s shoulder. His hand is working on its own now, rubbing over Rick’s wanting bulge. “Yes,” he whispers. “Yes. Suck my cock. I want you to.”

Pride swells in Rick’s chest, and he gives Daryl’s earlobe a celebratory nip before dropping back down to his knees. His hands fly to the belt buckle and the jean’s button and zip. He works them open efficiently while Daryl pants above him, staring down at Rick’s working hands with such intensity that Rick can feel his gaze like fire on his skin. Once he has splayed open the jean material, Rick dives in and presses his nose against the underwear-clad bulge. Arousal floods him on that first inhale—the scent is so much thicker without the extra fabric in the way. It smells like sex. Sweat, salt, and musk.

Rick’s fingers hesitate at the waistband of Daryl’s underwear. All he has to do is pull them down, and slip Daryl out. Then he’ll be there, filling up Rick’s hand, heavy and full. It’s so easy, and yet Rick’s fingers twitch at the elastic band, unwilling to commit to this course of action. No, not like this.

Rick falls back on his heels, hands on his knees, and looks up at Daryl expectantly. Daryl’s eyes blink open, confused by the loss of contact. He frowns at Rick, and opens his mouth to ask, but before he can, Rick says, “I want you to give it to me.”

“What?”

“I want you to put your cock in my mouth, Daryl. C’mon. I’m waiting for it. Give it to me.” Rick parts his lips in demonstration.

Daryl’s whole body shudders, and he has to close his eyes again. He leans heavily against the railing and takes a few deep breaths. “Yeah, okay, just…give me a minute.”

Rick smiles. Watching Daryl’s reaction floods Rick’s senses with need, and he can’t help but palm himself at the sight. He’s never seen Daryl so out of control.

When Daryl opens his eyes again, Rick doesn’t even bother to stop the movement of his hand, and Daryl’s eyes zero in on it immediately. “Fuck, Rick. Tell me how you want it. Anything. Anything you want.”

Rick’s next exhale comes out heavy. “Take yourself out,” he says on a whisper.

Daryl complies without hesitation—and there it is. His cock. Unsucked by man (but not for much longer). Jutting straight out from his hips, straining, engorged, the tip shining with precome. Rick’s lips part at the sight. That’s his. That thick, beautiful length belongs to him tonight.

“I want to suck the head clean. Put it in my mouth.” His jaw drops open, and he holds his tongue out like a welcome mat.

Daryl groans and stumbles forward. He puts a hand on Rick’s shoulder, and uses the other to guide his cock into Rick’s waiting mouth. Both of them moan at the first touch of hot cock to hot tongue.

Rick closes his lips around the head and sucks. It’s sticky, and the salt floods his taste buds. It’s stronger than a woman’s flavor, and Rick loves it. It tastes like victory. Like satiation.

He doesn’t move his head, and he leaves his hands on his lap, but it doesn’t take long for Daryl to claim control. He rocks his hips slowly, working the head of his cock in and out of the ring of Rick’s suctioned lips. A few minutes pass that way, the air around them filled with panting breaths and the soft, wet sounds of Daryl’s tip moving inside Rick.

“So good, Rick. So fuckin’ good,” Daryl says, breathless. But Rick doesn’t want it to be good—he wants it to be perfect. So, on Daryl’s next gentle forward thrust, Rick leans into it and takes Daryl that much deeper. It pulls a startled moan out of Daryl. “Oh God,” he gasps. “Oh God, oh Rick, I need—Can I—?”

Rick doesn’t answer, just leans forward further still, flattens his tongue inside his mouth, looks up at Daryl through his eyelashes, and waits.

“Oh fuck,” Daryl gasps, and then he’s got his hand tangled in Rick’s curls, and he’s pumping his hips faster, deeper, and _holding_ Rick there, the tight grip in his hair unyielding. Rick’s chest rumbles with bone-deep satisfaction.

It’s less than a minute like that before Daryl’s rhythm is stuttering and each thrust is jerky and uncoordinated. He’s getting close, Rick realizes, and heat pools in his abdomen at the thought. He’s sucking Daryl off. He’s sucking Daryl off and he’s going to _come_.

The next snap of Daryl’s hips buries him in too deep, and Rick pulls off, gagging, viscous strands of spit trailing behind in his retreat.

“Oh! Oh shit, Rick, I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Rick looks up at him with a wicked smirk. The nighttime air cools the lines of drool strung across his chin. He feels filthy and desirable, and his whole body aches with want. He knee-walks forward, and Daryl backs up until he hits the railing behind him. Then Rick takes him in hand, and swallows him down as far as he can.

“Oh, shit,” Daryl gasps, and then it’s nothing but hands and tongue and Rick’s quick bobbing head until Daryl’s legs start shaking and his muscles tense up.

Rick pops off. His heart is racing, each breath is heavy, and his skin is hot and tingly all over, but in his cheeks, lips, and cock most of all. He keeps his hand moving fervently over Daryl’s length.

“Come in my mouth. I want to swallow it. Will you?”

“God, yes. Yeah. Suck me, Rick. Oh, God.”

Rick takes him back down and three more suctioned pulls causes Daryl’s body to seize up. His throat strangles his heavy breathing into nothingness and he twitches through pulse after pulse of come flooding Rick’s mouth.

It’s difficult to hold on through the streams of come. Rick doesn’t move his mouth; he just keeps his lips wrapped around the head, breathes steadily through his nose, and tries to pump his hand to carry Daryl through his orgasm.

Once Daryl finds air again, each relief-filled exhalation carries Rick’s name with it. He says it with reverence, and it fills Rick with such gratification that once he pulls off Daryl’s softening cock, he leaps to his feet, and presses the entire length of his body against Daryl’s, hard against the railing.

Daryl is bleary and confused from the strength of his post-orgasmic bliss, but Rick has no patience for ‘slow’ or ‘later’. He _needs_. His hand fists in Daryl’s hair, and he drags his head back until his sleepy eyes find Rick’s burning gaze.

Rick opens his mouth to show him the creamy white liquid pooled on his tongue. Daryl’s eyes glaze over at the sight and he sucks in a shaky breath. Then, Rick leans in and kisses him.

It’s sloppy, and wet, and they’re both groaning through it. And even though Daryl has just come and couldn’t possibly be hard, he’s desperate again, scrabbling at Rick with his huge hands and pulling their bodies tightly together, like he can’t possibly get enough contact.

Rick ends up swallowing some of the come, Daryl swallows the rest, and they kiss and kiss until they’ve licked the flavor from each other’s mouths, and they keep on kissing after that. They only pause for a moment when Rick breaks away and gasps, “Touch me.” Then he dives back in. Their tongues are tangled up again by the time Daryl gets his hand down to Rick’s bulge.

Daryl strokes him through his jeans while they kiss, and for a second, Rick thinks that’s how he’ll come—in his jeans, rutting against Daryl’s hand. But then Daryl’s tugging at the button, unzipping the fly, and that warm, thick-fingered hand is wrapping around Rick’s cock.

The kiss does stop then, out of necessity. Rick breaks off with a gasp and a shudder. He buries his face in Daryl’s neck and shakes while Daryl pulls him off. The whole time, he’s whispering sweetly into Rick’s ear.

“—that’s right. That’s it, Rick. God, you did amazing. Perfect. Such a beautiful fucking mouth. You looked so goddamn good on your knees for me. Taking me like that. Perfect. You’re perfect. That’s right. So good—”

Rick comes with a groan, which he muffles in the soft curve of Daryl’s neck. He trembles as wave after wave rolls through him. He feels like it will never end, like he’ll die right here in tightly-wrapped arms, until finally the last of it bursts out of him and he falls limp against the sturdy wall that is Daryl Dixon.

Daryl holds him, and runs a soothing hand over Rick’s back. For a long while, it’s nothing but thudding hearts going quiet, uneven breaths slowing down, and the chorus of crickets, loud as ever.

“Well, holy fuck,” Daryl says at last, and a sudden laugh tears itself out of Rick’s chest. And just like that, they’re both hysterical.

Daryl doesn’t stop holding Rick while they laugh, even though it goes on for a good few minutes. They stay that way, wrapped up in one another, Rick’s come drying on their shirts, and they shake with laughter. When Rick finally pulls back, he’s wiping tears from his eyes.

“Happy birthday, I guess?” he says. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything appropriate to say, and that only makes the whole situation funnier.

“Best one yet. Thanks, man,” Daryl says. His grin stretches ear to ear, and though he’s not laughing anymore, the tremble in his shoulders suggests he’s barely holding it at bay.

“So, I say that I owe you three more of those,” Rick declares. “Gotta make up for those birthdays that I missed.”

Daryl flushes at that. He wipes the tears from his eyes and gives Rick a pleased smirk. “I’ll collect on that. I think I owe ya three or four myself.”

Now it’s Rick’s turn to flush. His eyes probably widen a bit, too. He hadn’t even thought about this exchange going to other way. He hadn’t paused to consider whether or not Daryl would be interested in having him like that.

“Well, y’know…” Daryl shrugs. “If you want.” His cheeks flush, and he gnaws at his bottom lip.

It’s bashful, and endearing, and it makes Rick’s whole face break into a bright smile. “Of course I want. My birthday’s October 27th. I could do with a good year. But until then, I wouldn’t mind celebrating the birthdays we missed.”

Daryl’s eyes flick up to meet Rick’s, and when he sees the smile on Rick’s face, his own grows to match it.

“Rick,” he says. “I can promise ya, that as long as you got me ‘round, you ain’t never gonna have a bad year again.”

The butterflies kick up a frenzy in his stomach. “And neither will you.”

***

The next day, Rick is greeted by beauty, all around. Fresh air, blue skies, green grass. Truly, a perfect day. So they organize a run. And discover that every single walker has dropped on the spot, never to move again.

They start burning bodies. Everybody smiles and sings and whistles through the labor. But Daryl’s smile shines brightest of all.

 


End file.
